


Plan Z

by Soledad



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bizarro Planet Ahead, Furlings Or No Furlings That Is The Question, Multi, Never Piss Off A Scientist, Not To Be Taken Too Seriously, Radek For The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: Answering the 2007 Radek ficathon challenge. Written for leaper182.The prompt was: When Sheppard's team is trapped off-world, they need Radek's help to get back to Atlantis. Slash (either Radek/Rodney or Radek/Carson) is lovely, but not required.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leaper182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** 14+, for language, even though it's in Czech. *g*  
>  **Warnings:** none, unless you’re squicked out by the idea of Mpreg or cross-gender threesomes. Only mentioned, nothing shown.  
>  **Timeframe:** Late Season 1, so that I could add my favourite supporting characters who never made it into Season 2.  
>  **Spoilers:** “The Torment of Tantalus” (SG-1, 1.11), “Crystal Skull” (SG-1, 3.21), and “Paradise Lost” (SG-1, 6.15)

**FOREWORD**

As I not only generally suck at your regular action/adventure stuff but also never imagined Radek with either of the above guys, I was in real trouble when I got my assignment. So I’ve sent a distress call to Memory Alpha, my sci-fi Yahoo Group as well as post it to my LJ. The names of the generous people who’ve helped me to put the actual plot together can be read below.

I also used one of the unanswered challenges over at Wraithbait, where someone named Squid wrote:  
_Story should include Rodney, John, Carson, and Radek. Slash if you want. Threesome or more if you so chose. Whatever rating, yada... very forgiving structure so far, eh? Well, somewhere within the story should include the following statement from Radek: "You have found some Ancient impregnation device and have decided that I will be your brood-mare for wild-haired fey children with astronomical IQs, god-like ATA-genes, and sexy brogues?"_

That gave me the basic idea, and things have spiralled downward from that moment on. *g*

 **Thanks to:** Lisa aka Firewolfe from Memory Alpha, who suggested the main plot idea, Squid who came up with the impregnation machine and the immortal Radek line, Jenn who gave her support, and Purpleyin who did the gargantuan Beta work and suggested the title. All remaining mistakes are mine – sometimes I’m just too stubborn to listen. My apologies. :))

Although the story uses the settings of my **Darkroom** alternate universe, it’s independent from everything I’ve ever written in this fandom.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
**PLAN Z, PART 1**

Dr. Radek Zelenka never felt the urge to go off-world. The one step through the Stargate – the one that had brought him from the Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado to Atlantis – had been enough for him. He wasn’t the adventurous type and preferred to study random pieces of Ancient technology in his own lab.

“Besides,” he explained to Dr. Carson Beckett in the mess hall, “there are only three teams that go off-world regularly. Sergeant Stackhouse’s team is good at trading for food, but they never find any Ancient tech. Sergeant Bates’ team is good at making useful contracts with natives, but the tech they find never works...”

“That is, sadly, quite true,” Dr. Peter Grodin agreed, eating something akin to lemon chicken with gusto. Dishes with citrus were only allowed on days when Dr. McKay was off-world, which gave the cooks one day's break from his rabid questioning of ingredients in the meals. The happiness at his absence wasn’t limited to his effect on the menu card, by the way. It was to the general relief of the entire science secton that this was one of those days.

“But at least Major Sheppard’s team often finds Ancient tech that’s still working,” Grodin added, wanting to be fair to Atlantis’ principal off-world team.

“And that’s trying to kill them in new and creative ways every single time,” Dr. Julia Simpson, the fourth one in their circle, commented.

“Unless Rodney upsets local tribe chief or the major seduces high priestess, in which case locals try to kill them,” Zelenka added. “There’s too much attempted killing involved for anyone in their right mind to want to join them.”

Grodin laughed. “Ain’t that the truth… But usually, it’s a bunch of Wraith who show up right after their arrival. Half the time they come in hot. If you think about it, it’s a little strange.”

“That’s what Sergeant Bates thinks, too,” Beckett said. “Only, he suspects the Athosians would sell out our people to the Wraith.”

“Sergeant Bates is grossly paranoid,” Zelenka said. “He’d have made great career in Czechoslovakia with attitude like that thirty years ago.”

“He has to be,” Grodin shrugged. “He’s the chief of security here. Paranoia is part of his job.”

“You really think Athosians would work with Wraith?” Zelenka asked doubtfully.

He knew, of course, that sometimes people simply had to cooperate with an oppressing force, but cooperation with the Wraith was pretty much a moot point. All one could have achieved was the questionable advantage to be eaten last.

“No,” Grodin admitted. “But I do think that Major Sheppard stays willingly blind towards the mere _possibility_ because he wants to get into Teyla’s pants. And _that_ ’s a bloody dangerous attitude.”

“Is another reason why I don’t wish to go on off-world mission with Dream Team,” Zelenka declared darkly, stuffing two delicious Athosian biscuits into his mouth at the same time. It was a shame, really, to eat them so fast, but if you worked with Dr. McKay on a regular basis, you learned quickly that the only safe place for your sweets – or for your coffee, for that matter – was your own stomach. The man definitely had a detrimental effect on everybody’s table manners.

“Do you expect them to get in trouble again?” Grodin asked. “It seemed a fairly simple recon mission to me. All the MALP showed was a large, dark room, with no people around the Stargate.”

“Which is exactly how their visit to Hoff started, and we all know how _that_ turned out,” Beckett mumbled, pushing the food around on his plate.

The others exchanged concerned looks. The tragic events on Hoff were still haunting the good doctor, causing him insomnia and a general lack of appetite, which worried his friends sometimes.

“I bet they’ll get in trouble,” Simpson picked up the conversation again, mostly to distract Beckett from his guilt-filled thoughts.

Grodin treated her with a supremely British eyebrow raise that climbed up to the roots of his hair.

“You do? Well, I’m in. And I bet that they’ll get in trouble because the major will pick up the wrong woman.”

“ _Ne_ ,” Radek said. “It will be Rodney. He will insult important people, calling them morons and imbeciles. _Or_ he will try to steal holy item from local temple, thinking that it’s amazing piece of Ancient tech.”

“Oh, good choice!” Grodin grinned at him. “But my money is still on the major. What do you think, Carson?”

“I’m not a bettin' man, lad,” Beckett replied absently. But Simpson wasn’t allowing him to back off so easily.

“You _have_ to vote for someone,” she declared. “There are four of us, and the team has four members. So choose.”

“All right,” Beckett said tiredly. “I vote for Ford.”

“Oh, please!” Simpson exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “How could our good little boy scout _possibly_ screw up a mission?”

“How the hell should I know?” Beckett shot back, exasperated. “I’m a doctor, not a screenwriter! You tell me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Simpson told him. “You came up with the name; you’ll have to come up with the reason, too.”

“Och, for the…” Beckett let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, perhaps he blew up the wrong person. Or he got on everyone’s nerves by bein' so bloody cheerful all the time.”

“That’s acceptable,” Grodin said. “Well, Julia? You got the really tough one: how is _Teyla_ supposed to screw up the mission?”

“By beating up important people to defend any of the three men in the team,” Simpson replied promptly, and even Carson had to laugh at _that_ – especially as the idea _did_ have a kernel of truth. Things like that _had_ happened before.

“The bet is on, then,” Grodin announced, placing a tiny, narrow box with five Pocket Coffee pralines – the ones that were filled with real _espresso_ – in the middle of the table. It was a criminal waste to risk such precious goods for a stupid bet, but if it helped to bring Carson down from his guilt trip, even for a short time, it was worth the sacrifice. Besides, there was a good chance that either Radek or Peter himself would win the bet, in which case they would share the winnings anyway.

Radek’s own contribution was an XXL-sized power bar – the brand with the _really_ large chocolate chips. He’d won it from Rodney a few days earlier, so it was only proper to use it for another bet. Simpson offered a copy of her favourite music CD, and Beckett produced a small satchel of his excellent tea – shared only with _very_ good friends, on _very_ special occasions.

All these rare treasures were entrusted to Grodin, as usual. He was the one with the right mind to keep tabs on all the pools running in Atlantis, and he kept a spreadsheet about every single one, noting the winners and the goods that had been won. It was a useful hobby, as it made him well-informed about Atlantis’ inner economy.

“Well,” Simpson said, finishing her dessert with the same speed as Radek, but in a somewhat more dignified manner, “I have to go back to my lab. We’ve been running an experiment since early morning, and Calvin needs a break to eat, too. When his blood sugar is low, he gets as cranky as McKay at his worst.”

“ _Calvin_?” Zelenka repeated, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“Doctor Kavanagh,” Beckett, who knew everyone’s personal file – hey, he was their doctor, after all! – explained. 

Zelenka’s eyebrows climbed up to the roots of his Einsteinesque hair.

“Doctor Kavanagh has first name? Wonders never cease to exist.”

The others grinned. Poor Kavanagh was often the recipient of such verbal jabs, both face to face or behind his back. He was simply too much like McKay in his social graces – or, to be more accurate, in the lack thereof – and _two_ McKays were too much for such a small, closed community, to handle. And only one of them was a certifiable genius to excuse his manners.

“We should go, too,” Grodin suggested. “I could use your help with the deep space sensors, Radek – or are you too busy in your lab?”

“Am always very busy man,” Zelenka replied with a sigh, “but now that Rodney is off-world, I can at least work in peace, without _constant_ interruptions.”

“Oh,” Grodin said with a long face. “Well, I’ll ask Doctor Moosekian, then. He’s a decent enough engineer, even if he’s not as good as you are.”

“ _Ne, ne_!” Zelenka protested. “You misunderstood. I’ll go to control room with you _now_ and help you with deep space sensors. _Then_ I’ll go back to lab and finish my own work in peace.”

Grodin thanked him, and they took their leave from Dr. Beckett – who was still struggling with his food; Athosian cuisine didn’t agree with him – and returned to the Control room. It seemed fairly deserted at the moment, with only Chief Technician Eddie Wong and Sergeant Jenny Hagiwara on duty. Dr. Weir was in her office above the Gate room, working on some translations with one of the linguists.

They weren’t expecting Sheppard’s team back from M7L-982 for at least another day or two, so it was the ideal time for Grodin and Zelenka to try and bring the newly discovered deep space sensors back online. Having a forewarning should any Wraith ships approach the planet would be helpful. 

It promised to be one of the rare peaceful days in the Pegasus galaxy. As everybody knows, however, those are the days when the proverbial shit likes to hit the fan – and this time wasn’t any different.

Grodin and Zelenka had been working for about an hour and a half, when the Stargate came alive. The bluish lights began to run around its great circle and various symbols flashing up briefly before locking in place. Dr. Weir, noticing the activity, stepped out onto the balcony of her office.

“What’s going on down there?” she demanded to know.

“Incoming wormhole,” Eddie Wong replied, raising the shield without waiting for her order. Living in Atlantis had taught everyone the advantages of independent thinking and fast reflexes.

Grodin left Zelenka’s side and hurried back to his usual station. “Do we have an IDC?” he asked.

“It seems to be Major Sheppard’s team, returning from M7L-982,” Wong replied, “because I’m receiving Lieutenant Ford’s IDC.”

“That’s strange,” Dr. Weir said with a concerned frown. “They weren’t supposed to be back before tomorrow or the day after. It hasn’t even been twelve hours since their last check-in. Perhaps they found something important.”

“Or someone found _them_ ,” Zelenka commented _sotto voce_.

In the meantime, the security team on duty had reached the Gate room, led by a grim-faced Sergeant Bates. Grodin glanced at his watch; it had taken the Marines exactly 85 seconds to get there. It was a new record. Apparently, all those drills Bates loved to run paid off, in the end.

“Do we have any audio messages?” Dr. Weir asked the Gate technician.

Wong shook his head. “All they’re sending is the IDC, ma’am.”

“Gate room secured, ma’am,” Bates reported. “You should step back into your office, though… just in case.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Weir retreated behind the protective glass (or rather its Ancient equivalent) of her office, and then gave the order. “Lower the shield.”

The shimmering veil of energy warbled for a second, then it vanished, giving room to the familiar sight of the blue-white pool of the event horizon. An air of tense anticipation settled over the Gate room.

For another moment or two, nothing happened. Then the middle of the pool gave way to a tall figure who stepped out of it in a somewhat theatrical manner.

Needless to say that it wasn’t any member of Sheppard’s team. Human, yes, or at the very least _human-looking_ : a tall, bony and dignified man in a long, stiff robe, made of some shiny fabric that rustled at his every movement. He wore an elaborate headdress that had a vague similarity to the helmets of ancient Greek or Roman warriors, only with an elongated metal crest on it, instead of a feather plume.

“Greetings!” he said in a somewhat high-pitched voice, almost falsetto. In fact, that peculiar voice matched the slightly insane look of his large, dark eyes and his strange mannerisms. He spread his long hands with what must have been a ceremonial gesture. “I am Diggory Suelze, and I am here on behalf of the Holy Synod of Furlonia.”

To say that all Atlantis personnel present were stunned would have been an understatement. Their collective jaws hit the floor in unison. It had been hard enough to get used to the astonishing speed with which the various Pegasus galaxy races picked up English, but at least the different structure of their brains gave a good explanation for _that_. _If_ you were able to follow Dr. Beckett’s explanations, that is. Meeting some intergalactic clown for the first time and finding he already spoke perfect English was a different matter.

Nonetheless, Dr. Weir decided to go for the diplomatic course of action. For the time being anyway.

“I’d say it’s my pleasure, Mr. Suelze,” she said, “but it would be helpful to know what the Holy Synod of Furlonia is and what they want from us.”

“Ma’am,” Sergeant Bates said quietly, “I don’t know _who_ this guy is, but I know _what_ he is. I’ve met another one like him before.”

Dr. Weir made a sharp turn towards him. “Where?”

“On Manaria, where my team and I have established a trade agreement for food with the locals,” Bates explained. “He’s a professional mediator. It’s a traditional occupation on Manaria; in fact, Manaran mediators are often hired by other races to negotiate difficult treaties for them, as they’re considered very skilled.”

“That explains the good English,” Dr. Weir said thoughtfully. “One of his colleagues must have passed on the language skills.” She turned to the man in question. “So, Mr. Suelze, have you been hired by these Furlonians to negotiate for them?”

“ _Furlings_ , actually,” the man with the weird outfit corrected, “and please, call me Diggory.”

“I’ll consider that when I’ve gotten to know you better,” she said dismissively. “But what do these Furlings want to negotiate about? And how have you come to have Lieutenant Ford’s IDC?”

“Why, he offered it to me voluntarily, of course,” the mediator replied, “so that I could use the Gate and come here. Because, you see, I am to negotiate the possibility of survival – for him, for the other members of his team, and for your entire city here. And believe me, this won’t be an easy thing to achieve.”

The Gate room became eerily silent at once. The thought that they might have made a third mortal enemy aside from the Wraith and the Genii – and possibly a very powerful one at that – wasn’t encouraging, to put it mildly.

“What the hell have our people done to upset these Furlings so much?” Dr. Weir asked in resignation.

“Their team leader offended the moral operative of the Synod members by breaking a religious taboo,” the mediator explained with a sad face. “The Furlings are a highly advanced people, but a little… _sensitive_ when it comes to their beliefs.”

Dr. Weir suppressed a groan. Of all the possible dangers of the Pegasus galaxy, Sheppard’s team _had_ to run into religious fanatics! More than that: into religious fanatics with possibly deadly weapons. Not that it would be the first time this had happened, unfortunately.

“What, exactly, _has_ Major Sheppard done?” she asked in exasperation, repressing the urge to add on _this time_. “Has he seduced the high priestess?”

"No,” the mediator replied gravely, “it was a much worse offence. He actually rejected the advances of the Chief Warlord.”

The collective jaws of all Atlantis personnel present hit the floor again (only Grodin whispered “pay up” to Zelenka). Dr. Weir blinked in confusion a few times, trying to adjust her preconceptions to the actual problem… with very little success. Nonetheless, she collected herself in record time. That ability came with the field for an accomplished diplomat.

“I think we’d better relocate this discussion to my office,” she said calmly; a _lot_ more calmly than she felt, to tell the truth. “Peter, ask Doctor Corrigan to join us; we might need the insight of an anthropologist here. Sergeant Bates, Doctor Zelenka, come with me, please.”

Zelenka frowned. “Doctor Weir, I doubt I could contribute much there; I’m needed here with deep space sensors more.”

“You’re Rodney’s right-hand-man,” Dr. Weir said. “We might need you yet; and besides, you need to know what’s going on.”

“Perhaps we should include Halling as well,” Grodin suggested. “He’s just arrived on Atlantis this morning, with Sergeant Markham’s regular flight.”

“What a coincidence,” Bates murmured conspiratorially, but just low enough for everyone to hear. Zelenka gave him a look of mild annoyance.

“There’s paranoia and there’s obsession, Sergeant,” he commented, marching after Dr. Weir already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nominated for 2007 Stargate Fan Awards  
> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/wiseheart/pic/000k4zx6/)
> 
> It didn't won but hey, I was proud of the nomination anyway!


	2. Chapter 2

**PLAN Z, PART 2**

“Whoever these people are, they cannot actually _be_ Furlings,” Dr. Corrigan declared some twenty minutes later. “The Furlings were one of the four great ancient races, aside from the Asgard and the Nox, who’d formed an alliance with the Ancients, thousands of years ago. At least according to the repository in Heliopolis, discovered by SG-1 on PB2-908, in 1997.”

“Well, Mr. Suelze here says that they’re a highly advanced people,” Dr. Weir pointed out. 

Corrigan shook his head. “No, ma’am, you misunderstood me. We _know_ who the Furlings are. Were. Whatever. To our best knowledge, there’s at least one of them, a giant being made of light and energy, on P7X-377. It exists in a dimension close to ours and is called Quetzalcoatl. SG-1 made contact with it, back in 2000. You said your employers are ordinary, flesh-and-blood people, right?” he turned to the mediator.

“I wouldn’t call them _ordinary_ ,” Diggory Suelze answered with a crooked smile. “But they’re certainly as human and solid as you or me. I’ve heard the name of Quetzalcoatl mentioned among them, though. They say a being with that name – a powerful creature not of their world – visited Furlonia aeons ago and helped them to shape their civilization.”

“Does that mean they consider Quetzalcoatl their god?” Dr. Weir asked.

Diggory shook his head. “No; as their Great Compass. They don’t believe in gods, but they are aware of beings out there that are a lot more powerful than they could ever hope to become.”

“I believe M7L-982 must have once been a Furling protectorate,” Dr. Corrigan said. “Something akin to the Asgard-protected planets. Only that the Furlings, unlike the Asgard or the Tollans, don’t seem to have been afraid to share their technology with less-advanced people. And these guys have obviously made good use of it during the millennia in-between.”

“Have we ever heard of Furling-protected planets back in the Milky Way galaxy?” Dr. Weir asked. She’d studied the most important reports of the various SG-teams but couldn’t remember every single detail.

“There has been one such planet found, as far as I’m informed,” Dr. Corrigan replied. “I can’t remember its designation, but it was nicknamed Utopia. One particular piece of tech found there – the only one that still worked – was an archway device that was capable of instantaneously transporting users over great distances.”

“Do your employers have device like that?” Zelenka asked the mediator.

“That I cannot tell,” Diggory Suelze shrugged. “We are a simple folk, and their way of living is well beyond our imagination.”

“But you _have_ been on their world, haven’t you?” Zelenka insisted.

“Several times,” the mediator said, “but there’s little I could tell you, even if I were not currently employed by them. Their Gate stands in a cavernous, windowless room; most likely an underground cave. Travellers are immediately transferred to a place where things have no solid substance – you can walk through things, even people, as if they were made of thin air.”

“Oh,” Zelenka said. “Interdimensional transportation device. That way they can search visitors for hidden weapons, explosives, and other harmful things. Clever. Very clever.”

The mediator nodded. “They are. When they’ve made sure that the visitor is no threat to them, they return him to the real world. Then he walks through some sort of archway and finds himself elsewhere, on one of their habitat areas.”

Zelenka and Corrigan exchanged a look full of excitement and curiosity.

“Could be same device as on Utopia, no?” the Czech guessed. 

“Must be.” The anthropologist nodded. “The one Colonel… well, _General_ O’Neill walked through transferred him from the planet surface to its nearby moon. Furling technology is very efficient, and these people are apparently capable of using it a conscious way, perhaps even developing it further.”

“I’m still surprised that the Wraith haven’t discovered them,” Dr. Weir said. “It’s not easy to hide such advanced technology.”

“It is, with proper shielding.” Zelenka shrugged. “They must have very efficient cloaking device, powered by clean, natural energy source. Geothermic energy is possibility; according to Doctor Selikhova, the planet has very active core. She was very excited after first sequence of sensor work.”

“But if they’re so damn advanced, why did they take our people hostage?” Bates growled. “We’re certainly no threat to them.”

“I don’t think it’s a military problem, Sergeant,” Dr. Weir said mildly.

“If their chief honcho is called the Warlord, then it sure as hell is!” Bates riposted.

The mediator raised a hand to get their attention.

“Doctor Weir is right,” he said. “This is a profound philosophical problem. You see, the Furlings, unlike any other people I’ve ever heard of, do not believe in the physical contact between genders, unless it’s sanctioned by the need for procreation and a thorough mixing of the gene pool, as they like to say.”

Bates’ eyes glazed over. “Huh?”

Corrigan took pity on him. “It means that on Furlonia, homosexuality is the norm, Sergeant,” he explained matter-of factly. Anthropologists generally weren’t easily shocked. “They only mate to produce children; otherwise they stick to their own gender. It’s a rare arrangement, but not entirely unheard of. According to Jonas Quinn, Kelowna has a similarly oriented society.”

“The Furlings do not need to mate in order to produce children,” the mediator corrected. “The begetting takes place in a lab, without the potential parents getting… _physical_ with each other. If the embryo _takes_ , as they say, it is placed into the womb of the bearer with the help of a strange device. They consider… erm… _natural_ begetting to be unclean and uncivilized, and all people that practice it are barbaric in their eyes… even inferior.”

“That still doesn’t explain why they would want to destroy our people – or our entire city,” Dr. Weir said. “Especially as they don’t seem to be bothered by the mating customs of the rest of this galaxy.”

“Oh, but the rest of the galaxy doesn’t pose a threat to them,” the mediator replied. “Not even the Wraith do. You, however, live in the flying city of the Ancients – once you’ve learned all its secrets, you may very well _become_ a serious threat.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about them,” Bates remarked darkly. “I wonder how that came about?”

The mediator stiffened in his seat and gave the Sergeant a thoroughly offended look… one that was mirrored in Dr. Weir’s eyes. Bates glared back at the man defiantly but seemed a bit uncomfortable. He’d been so proud of the trade agreement he’d worked out with the Manarans; it would be foolish to ruin his relationship with them now over this.

“I am one of the very few outsiders that are accepted, to a certain degree, because of my… _orientation_ ,” the mediator declared with wounded dignity. “They consider me only slightly below their Beta males, and they’ve taught me some basic facts, so that I can efficiently represent them in their dealings with other races.”

“Wait a minute,” Corrigan interrupted. “What do you mean with _Beta males_?”

“The Furlings have four genders,” the mediator explained. “Alpha males are large and very masculine. Beta males are much shorter and often fragile, and they are also capable of bearing children. Alpha females are lean and athletic, and a significant percentage of them are infertile. Beta females are voluptuous, very feminine but also rare, compared with the other three genders; barely ten per cent of the population.”

“I… I see.” For a moment even Corrigan, who had seen and heard his fair share of people’s strange customs during his years as SG-15’s resident anthropologist, was more than a little baffled. “So, am I right in assuming that this Chief Warlord, who by his title must be one of their Alpha dogs, took a shine to Major Sheppard…?”

“He thought the major to be a Beta male, because he is not as big and muscular as Furling Alphas,” the mediator nodded, “and as the major didn’t wear the mark of a bonded Beta, the Warlord proposed to him. The Furlings do refresh their gene pool with bondmates from other races, from time to time.”

“Is a Beta not allowed to refuse a proposal from an Alpha?” Halling spoke for the first time.

“Of course he is; the Furlings are an enlightened people!” The mediator seemed truly offended on behalf of his employers. “Unfortunately, Major Sheppard made a few… indiscreet remarks about men who want to be with men and, understandably enough, the Chief Warlord took great offence. You must understand that for them, actual intercourse between the members of two opposite genders is anathema.”

Corrigan shook his head in amused bewilderment.

“This is the strangest mirror image of homophobic excesses I’ve ever heard of on Earth… or any other planet, come to think of it,” he said. “But at least it brings a great variety to the gene pool. Anyway, what can we do to save our people – not to mention ourselves – from the righteous anger of Furling zealots?”

“Well, the woman warrior named Teyla is in no danger,” the mediator said. “The Furlings know she’s Athosian, and they consider the Athosian custom of clan marriages as the first step on the way to enlightenment. Besides, Teyla accepted a challenge to duel by a respected huntress and proved her Alpha female worth. She’s declared the young one, Lieutenant Ford, as her chosen, so the Furlings will leave the young man alone, too. The two of them are even allowed to move around in the habitat area freely, as long as they don’t try to leave. But you must allow the ones called Beckett and Zelenka to accompany me to Furlonia.”

“ _Me_?” Zelenka said in slight panic, questioning the statement before anyone else had a chance to respond. “What can they possibly want from me?”

“Why, the loud and annoying one called McKay told the Furlings that you are his bonded, and so is Doctor Beckett,” the mediator replied. “And the Furlings want you to confirm that statement before they would even consider releasing your people.”

“He did _what_?” No one had ever seen the quiet, good-humoured Dr. Zelenka so furious. Ever. “He’s miserable _little_ man, whom I will be killing in his sleep as soon as he gets back!”

The mediator inclined his head towards him. “I understand the sentiment perfectly. Life bonds, if not made publicly, should only be revealed with the consent of all parties involved.”

“I am _not_ involved with Rodney!” Zelenka shouted with such ferocity that it made Dr. Weir startle in her seat. “ _Nor_ with Carson. Or with anyone else! Am perfectly normal, lonely scientist like everyone else here, and _not_ looking for crazy affairs!”

Which was a blatant lie, as at the very least two people in the conference room knew it. But these two people kept that knowledge to themselves – one out of self-preservation, the one out of sympathy. Dr. Weir had to fight very hard to suppress a smile – an enraged Zelenka was an unexpectedly funny sight.

“Oh…” the mediator seemed decidedly disappointed. “Well, in that case I can only hope you’re a very good actor, because as things look, you’re the only one who might be able to prove to the Furlings that not all your people are ‘declared enemies of the only true way’, as they would call it.”

“Didn’t they want Doctor Beckett as well?” Bates asked.

“He’s not going,” Dr. Weir said simply.

Bates couldn’t quite hide his smirk. “Still afraid of Gate travel, isn’t he?”

“Not everyone’s born to be a Gate traveller,” Dr. Weir replied coolly, in defence of Carson’s honour. “He would go nonetheless, if needed. But it would do no good to send him to a mission while he’s needed here more – or do you want to go to Doctor Biro for medical assistance?”

The dismayed expression on Bates’ face was answer enough. No, he didn’t want to go to their resident pathologist with any injury. Dr. Weir nodded.

“I thought so. That’s why Carson will stay here. I’m sure Doctor Zelenka will deal with the Furlings on his own just fine.”

“By pretending I’m something that I am not?” Zelenka asked angrily.

“By making them believe that the people of Atlantis are not a seditious force that endangers the very basics of their society,” the mediator replied very seriously. “Even if you have to pretend to be something – or someone – that you, in fact, are _not_.”

Zelenka shot Corrigan a desperate glance.

“Doesn’t seem that I have any other choice, yes?” he asked.

“Afraid not,” the anthropologist said with compassion. Playing the mate of Dr. McKay, gay or otherwise, wouldn’t have been his voluntary choice, either.

“Very well,” Zelenka declared, “I’ll do what I can. But Rodney is dead man in the second he sets foot on Atlantis again.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
He was still fuming when – less than an hour later – he finally left his lab to step through the Stargate for the second time in his life. The thought to have to leave several very sensitive experiments to Dr. Moosekian’s care didn’t bode well with him. As Peter had said earlier, the scruffy little Armenian was a decent engineer, but not so good at simulations.

Under normal circumstances, Radek would have asked Kavanagh to keep an eye on his lab. The American scientist might be a pain in the ass, but he was well-organized and highly efficient. Right now, however, Kavanagh and Simpson were working on an important project of their own and couldn’t spare the time to watch over Radek’s experiment as well.

“Are you sure you can deal with Doctor Moosekian, _milácku_?” Radek asked Miko Kusanagi, who had offered to pull a double shift, just to keep the lab safe. “He’s not always very pleasant company.”

Miko gave him one of her private little smiles.

“You forget that I, too, work for Doctor McKay,” she replied. “Don’t worry about me. Go and bring him back safely, so that we can complain about him all the time.”

Radek kissed her on the cheek and stepped out into the corridor, muttering Czech profanities under his breath. He was really, _really_ mad at his boss, and he fully intended to make Rodney pay for dragging him into an off-world debacle. As if he didn’t have enough work to do. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t heard Grodin approaching, and nearly got a heart attack when Peter touched his shoulder.

“ _Kurva drát_!” he exclaimed, leaning against the bulkhead to catch his breath again.

“Sorry,” Grodin apologized, “I just wanted to see you off. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No, Peter, I do _not_ want to do this,” Radek answered angrily. “I _have_ to do this because Rodney was again babbling without thinking of implications and found it good idea to get _me_ in trouble, too, just to save his own skin. I’m no diplomat – I’ll only make everything worse, and then I’ll get imprisoned, just like the major, and…”

Grodin laid a placating hand upon his arm. “Whoa, calm down! No need to work yourself into a frenzy. You should better consider how you’re going to make the Furlings believe that you’re the bed slave of both Rodney and Carson.”

Radek glared at him darkly. “I will do no such thing!”

“Then how are you planning to get him out of trouble?” Grodin asked.

“I’m not,” Radek told him. “I intend to give him so much trouble of my own that Furlings will be his least concern.”

“Is that wise?” Grodin asked with a frown.

“Is the only thing I can do convincingly,” Radek answered with a shrug; then, patting Grodin’s arm, he added. “Of course, I would be much more inspired if I had to get _you_ out of trouble.”

“Tease,” Grodin smiled at him. “Stay safe and bring Rodney back, so that I can kill him personally.”

“No need to be jealous,” Radek smiled back at him. “I’d never trade you for him. But now I have to go and solve problem. Carson wouldn’t be able to deal with situation… especially with Lieutenant Ford present.”

“Rodney couldn’t have named a worse person,” Grodin agreed. “Carson is incapable of pretending… and he’s emotionally too fragile at the moment.”

“Rodney’s infuriatingly clueless,” Radek agreed. “One day he’ll have to learn how adults deal with other people. Well… I really have to go, Peter. You know what it’s like: if Plan A and Plan B have failed and Plan C is no option, you have to invoke Plan Z.”


	3. Chapter 3

**PLAN Z, PART 3**

As the mediator had told them, the gut-wrenching trip through the Stargate ended in some enormous cage. It seemed completely empty, save from the Gate itself – and nobody was waiting for them.

“Are we not expected?” Radek turned to the mediator, but to his mild shock, his hand went right through the man’s arm when he tried to get some support, as if it didn’t have any substance at all. “Oh,” he said, understanding what was happening. “Interdimensional displacement has already taken place. Good that I’m brilliant scientist; otherwise I would freak out now.”

The mediator didn’t answer, and Radek vaguely remembered Dr. Corrigan having said something about the one-sidedness of the interdimensional experience. He’d have to read SG-1’s report about P7X-377, should he get the chance. Or talk to Dr. Jackson, in the unlikely case that they ever got back to Earth. It would be interesting to compare their experiences.

He asked himself how long the Furlings would need to realize that he was harmless, and how they could tell to begin with; and whether he’d have to spend hours in this cave, which was _not_ a very inviting place, even in its current, non-substantial state. Bored and annoyed wasn’t even beginning to describe his state of mind, but he knew better than to complain. Making the ones with the power mad was never a good idea.

So he waited with forced patience, until he saw the mediator turning towards him, which he interpreted as a sign that they were in the same dimension again. He was proved right the next moment, when Diggory jovially slapped his back.

“They returned you to the real world, I see,” the Manaran exclaimed. “Good, good! The archway shall be opening any minute now.”

As if to prove his words true, all of a sudden a gate became outlined in the previously solid cave wall: a great, trapezoid frame, filled with white light.

“And here it is,” Diggory announced cheerfully – _way_ too cheerfully for Radek’s taste.

“What now?” he asked morosely.

“Now we walk through the archway and will find us… wherever the Furlings want us to be,” Diggory explained. “The council chamber of the Synod is the most likely place; that’s where they talk to the rare outsiders they allow to visit their planet. Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing during transfer.”

“They say the same about Stargate travel,” Radek grumbled. “And it is _not_ true for Stargate travel.”

“You feel something when passing through a Gate?” Diggory asked in surprise.

“Nausea,” Radek answered darkly. “I feel nausea. That’s why I prefer sitting in nice, safe lab, back in Atlantis.”

“Well, that’s not an option right now,” Diggory said with an apologetic shrug. “But you can trust me: the archway is completely safe. I’ve walked through it several times, and I’m still here. Come now; you wouldn’t want to make the Furlings wait. That can make them… cranky.”

“Sounds like Rodney,” Radek said, eyeing the archway suspiciously. The Stargate was at least a known quality, even though he disliked using it. _This_ , however… “Perhaps I should leave them to each other,” he started backing off physically already. “Perhaps they would make perfect match.”

“Unlikely,” the mediator said dryly. “Please follow me now.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Radek closed his eyes and allowed Diggory to drag him through the archway. The trip didn’t give him the same feeling of disorientation as the Stargate. It was rather as if he’d been sucked in by some sort of maelstrom and spat out at the other end.

“It takes a bit of practice,” Diggory commented unnecessarily, and extended a hand to help Radek up. Radek accepted the help, got up awkwardly, wiped his hands on his trousers and looked around in the room, completely awestruck.

They were standing in some sort of antechamber, the walls of which were translucent, allowing them a look at the most extraordinary cityscape Radek had ever seen – and that seen from the upmost level of a ten-storey house. The utilitarian, geometric shapes; the matte silver or bronze or broken white glimmer of the buildings; the walkways that interconnected with them in broadly-swung spirals and wide curves – all of it could have been imagined by a first class CGI artist of a big budget sci-fi movie. None of the buildings seemed to have any windows, but based on the room he was standing right now, perhaps the walls were one-sidedly translucent, making windows unnecessary. The tallest buildings were fifteen to twenty storeys high. The city stretched in every direction as far as Radek could see; and he couldn’t even calculate the amount of energy that was necessary to cloak and shield a settlement of this magnitude. Yet the Furlings must have managed it somehow, given the fact that the Wraith hadn’t found them during the millennia they'd lived in this galaxy.

Unless, of course, the entire civilization existed in a parallel dimension.

Between the buildings there were wide, open places with perfectly manicured parks; the enormous trees and bushes were not the usual green but rather a bluish shade, which made Radek think that the primary star of the planet must have been a white or blue giant, with a different kind of radiation than the sun of Earth – or even that of Atlantis. Radek wondered what the inhabitants would look like. Having developed under such a different sun _must_ have left its traces in their appearance.

A second glance around the room answered Radek’s question, at least partially. A few technicians, easily recognizable by their coveralls – even though those looked as if made out of thin silver foil – were working at various consoles. Every single one of them was male, about Radek’s height or even shorter, but somewhat more delicately built. They were olive-skinned with a slight greenish hue, their black hair was metallic-looking, with blue highlights, and at least two of them were very obviously pregnant, displaying the unmistakable mannerisms that in humans would be characteristic for child-bearing women.

The only woman present stood in front of a large, circular door, the frame of which was adorned with symbols of the Furling alphabet, but without an actual keyhole or any visible opening mechanism. The woman was tall, lean and long-limbed, built like a runner, but with the cold, wary eyes of a professional soldier. She wore long, black skin-tight pants of the same metal foil, as the technicians’ outfits, as well as a top that left her midriff bare. She was so flat-chested that one could have mistaken her for a young man, and a long, gleaming golden braid was hanging over one of her shoulders. She was armed with a hand-held weapon that had some vague similarity to the Goa’uld _zat’nikitel_ and there was no mistaking that she was a warrior, someone who could use it well.

“Are you the one called Zelenka?” she asked in a business-like manner, and as Radek nodded, she simply touched the door with her palm. 

The door – vanished. Just like that. Behind it, a large room with a U-shaped table could be seen. A lot of people were sitting at the table, but for the moment, Radek only had eyes for the door itself. His mind whirled, trying to figure out how such a door could possibly function. He didn’t even realize that he was muttering to himself in Czech, forming theories and rejecting them in rapid success.

“The Holy Synod is awaiting you,” the female soldier reminded, and she stepped to the side, so that Radek could enter the room.

He did as instructed and looked around, eager to see everything that was there to see – and that was quite a lot. The room was a strange, anachronistic mix of ancient temple and advanced technology. The wide expanse of its walls was covered with ceramic reliefs that had the look of Mayan calendar plates, made of reddish-brown ceramic and inlaid with gold. Instead of lamps or windows, it was illuminated by large, gently glowing white surfaces that could, perhaps, also serve as viewscreens, if necessary.

A look at the _people_ present gave Radek the weird feeling as if he’d been transferred to an episode of that old “Lost in Space” TV-show… sans Robbie the Robot. Everyone was clad in skin-tight clothes, made of the same thin, metallic foil – only the cut and the colour varied, presumably according to each individual’s gender, rank or perhaps occupation. Four of them were sitting with Teyla and McKay on the narrow side of the U-shape, facing the door. They must have been the leading representatives of the four genders, because their attire was the most sophisticated and richly decorated.

There was one of them who caught Radek’s eye immediately: a literal giant of a man, at the very least 6’4’’ and shaped like a professional bodybuilder. His upper body was naked, save for a richly adorned pectoral collar made of a yellow metal – perhaps gold – and set with small, multicoloured stones. Those stones could be also glass baubles or jewels – or touch controls for some unknown technology. It was hard to tell. The collar covered the entire upper half of the man’s broad chest. He was olive-skinned and wore his glittering copper hair in a topknot. Dramatic eye-makeup emphasized his already large eyes, making his lids look like green metallic shells. He wore a pendant similar to the Ancient Egyptian _ankh_ symbol hanging on a golden chain from the collar, and also one of those _zat’nikitel_ -like weapons, only a bigger and more ornate one. Based on his size and aggressive, edgy body language, Radek made the educated guess that this man had to be the Chief Warlord – the one who had proposed to Major Sheppard.

On the Warlord’s right sat a middle-aged looking man: smooth-faced, a bit rotund, but still very beautiful. His elegantly greying hair, arranged in a fairly extravagant fashion, was sticking out in every direction. If _that_ was the traditional hairdo of a high-ranking, well-bred Beta male, it was easy to understand why Sheppard had caught the chief’s eye; his usual bed hair style looked surprisingly similar.

The lead Beta also wore elaborate make-up, his impossibly long eyelashes emphasized by thick, dark mascara, and his small mouth painted red and outlined with a darker colour. A shimmering piece of fabric, folded like a toga from Ancient Rome, covered the no longer absolutely perfect curves of his body. His collar – or perhaps personalized control console – and _ankh_ pendant were the same as those worn by the Alpha, but he also wore jewelled rings and wrist-guards; it was impossible to tell if they were pieces of sophisticated technology or merely adornment.

There was a strange piece of apparatus standing on the table in front of him. It looked like the local version of a laptop, but instead of a screen, all it had was an empty frame. Radek guessed that it had to be some sort of three-dimensional holographic projector, and his fingers began to itch. If he could get a chance to take a closer look…

But the wary face of the woman on the Warlord’s left reminded him that this wasn’t the right time for scientific curiosity. She must have been the head of the Alpha females, as she was dressed like the female soldier guarding the door – armed, too – but she also had the same Egyptian-style collar as the males, and even an elongated, metallic blue and gold helmet, that looked much like Queen Nefertiti’s crown on the pictures in Dr. Corrigan’s lab.

She indeed bore a striking similarity to the long-dead Egyptian queen, with her warm, cinnamon-coloured skin, her long, graceful neck, high cheekbones and large, sensuous mouth. But her bare arms showed the sleek muscles of a strong man, and her large eyes glittered coldly like pieces of obsidian, emphasized by metallic blue eye make-up. Unlike the two males on her right, she didn’t wear an _ankh_ -pendant. Since the _ankh_ represented life for the Egyptians, that perhaps meant that she was infertile, which would have been a pity… for her _and_ the entire gene pool of her people, exquisite as she was.

The other woman present seemed also beyond her first youth and very feminine and luscious… almost too much so. Radek usually liked a bit of padding on his female partners (rare though they were), but you could definitely have too much of a good thing. The old-fashioned pin-up girls of American magazines would have been put to shame by this Beta female, whose voluptuous… _assets_ threatened to spill out of her too-tight bodice.

Her chestnut hair was wrapped around her head in a beehive hairdo, and she was most likely as fertile as a queen bee. She also wore the _ankh_ pendant, and elaborate earrings were jingling from her ears, their light metallic slithers almost touching her bare shoulders. Sure, she _was_ very tempting, in the old, Magna Mater-like sense of the word, but her catlike eyes, outlined with green, were cold and calculating. Despite her looks, she was no mindless pleasure toy, and it would have been a grave mistake to underestimate her.

Unlike Major Sheppard – who, according to the mediator, was held somewhere in a jail cell – Teyla and Rodney were seated at the Synod’s table. Teyla, accepted in her Alpha status, got a seat between the two females, and Rodney, whose actual status had not been confirmed yet, had been placed on the right of the Beta male. Lieutenant Ford, wearing some artistically revealing golden foil garment in Furling fashion – one that brought out the warm colour of his skin and the trim shape of his body to the best advantage – was standing behind Teyla’s chair. His customary cheerful manner was gone now; he looked like a trapped animal, his eyes darting around nervously, as if looking for a way to escape.

Radek hadn’t had the time – or the nerves, to be completely honest – to come up with a working strategy in advance. But if you grew up behind the Iron Curtain, you learned to be light on your feet… and, just as importantly, to _improvise_. That was what Radek trusted in, and now, looking at Rodney’s nervous face, inspiration hit him all of a sudden.

That and renewed anger, that is.

Without waiting for anyone to greet him or, in fact, say _anything_ to him, he marched up to the middle of the large chamber, put his hands on his hips in the manner of a wronged wife, and yelled at his boss with all the suppressed frustration of the last year or so. 

“Rodney Ingram McKay,” he declared forcefully, “I’ve endured a lot from you, but enough is enough! What were you _thinking_? Just because you’ve found some alien impregnation machine, you think I’d be willing to be your brood-mare for wild-haired, fey children with astronomical IQs, god-like ATA genes and exotic brogues? Well, think again! And you better apologize by to that poor Carson when we get home, or I’ll have your hide for upsetting him so badly.”

Well, the last part was grossly exaggerated, to be honest. Carson’s only reaction to the news had in fact been a tolerant shake of his head and a tired “Och, Rodney, you _must_ get yourself in trouble every time, mustn’t ya?” But Radek thought it would make more impact to show that both Rodney’s so-called bondmates were shocked by his actions. And it had felt good to add in that extra whilst he was at it.

In any case, _his_ outbreak managed to shock the Furling government… priest class… Synod… whatever, thoroughly. He couldn’t know, of course, but by invoking Rodney’s full name – which he’d made up on the spot – he’d given the eccentric Canadian a very high status indeed, as only those of noble birth (and such people had become extremely rare during the recent millennia) possessed _three_ names in Furling society. Most of them had only one, so that their lineage had to be added to official documents (not a big deal with their level of data compression). The members of the various city synods – not to be mistaken by the members of _the_ Synod – had two. Aside from the big four present, perhaps a dozen or so Furlings on the entire planet could proudly state that they had three.

Equally unheard of was that the owner of three proud names would be verbally attacked – and in such a disrespectful manner – by _anyone_ , even by their own bonded. Actually, bondmates of such an important person would consider their bonded status as the highest form of social achievement and would be frightened to death by the possibility of losing said status, so they would be even more polite and careful than anyone else, walking on eggshells around their Alpha in a fairly servile manner. Frankly, the shock of the Synod was more than understandable under those circumstances, as the mediator later explained to the clueless people from Earth.

For approximately eighty seconds, no one in the conference room was able to speak from the sheer shock of such outrageous behaviour. Rodney’s mobile face mirrored an almost comical mix of shock and fury, too; it was clear to anyone who knew him that he’d love to rip Radek a new one, but he wasn’t stupid enough to interfere with a rescue mission, even if said rescue mission had unpleasant side effects.

Finally, the Warlord turned to Teyla and asked her slightly bewildered.

“Is that the way the Betas among these people treat their Alphas? How they behave towards those above their ranks? For if it is, then I am not surprised that the rude one in our holding cell dared to speak to me in the inexcusable way he did.”

“This is how _sane_ people among us tread deluded ones,” Radek fumed, not ready to accept that the Warlord would discuss him with Teyla over his head. “To try and beat some sense back into their swollen heads. Rodney, I’ll make you pay for this! Dragging me away from important work, through Stargate, making all people in Atlantis speak about me… about… about _us_ ,” he added, with a truly murderous glare, one that made Rodney flinch. “You’ll have to make _very_ great efforts to get back into my good graces again.”

He was so angry that he found it hard to keep his grip on the English language – a fairly illogical one at the best of times anyway. The beauty of the thing was, he had no idea that he was coincidentally using the very expressions typical for domestic squabbles among the Furlings, and that by treating Rodney the way he did, he automatically assumed himself a social status at least as high as Rodney’s was supposed to be, three names or no three names. The Furlings began to see at him with a different eye, although they still couldn’t understand what exactly had made him _this_ mad.

“Does he believe his bonded intended to impregnate him against his will?” the Alpha female asked Teyla with a frown. Such an action was unthinkable among the Furlings – theoretically, it would have been one of the few crimes still calling for capital punishment. Practically speaking, it hadn’t happened for millennia; nobody remembered an actual case any more.

"I believe he is under the false impression that Doctor McKay would want to talk him into experimenting with your fertility machine,” Teyla replied smoothly; the last thing they needed was to have _Rodney_ imprisoned, too, for an arcane crime he didn’t even understand, not to mention attempted. “You see, Great Huntress, human males are not capable of bearing children. They do not have the right organs.”

“Not even the Betas?” the Nefertiti-look-alike asked in surprise.

“Humans, like my people, only have two genders,” Teyla explained, “and only the females can bear children.”

“That used to be the case with our people at the dawn of our civilization, too,” the Huntress said. “But we’ve long evolved beyond our lowly beginnings.”

“What a shame,” the Beta female said, addressing her companions with belittling pity in her sultry voice, as if to ignore the humans' presence entirely (bar Teyla as an Athosian). “We hoped that a species technically as advanced as these people – even though they’re still far from our format – would have reached a higher biological and philosophical development as well. We’ve waited for such a species for so long… and it seems that once again, our hopes have been dashed.”

“A pity indeed,” the Beta male agreed, eyeing Radek with appreciation. “This one has intelligence as well as a fiery spirit. He’d make an excellent bondmate, even for a powerful Alpha.”

“ _He_ is busy enough without having to care for children,” Radek said darkly. “ _He_ doesn’t need children in lab to break things and smear sticky stuff on sensitive equipment with grubby little hands.”

“Does it mean that you haven’t bred yet at all?” the Beta male asked disapprovingly. “That is irresponsible. You owe it to your people to hand down your genes to the next generation – more so as you seem to be a gifted one.”

“I do have one daughter… female child,” Radek corrected, seeing that the word didn’t translate for the Furlings; perhaps they didn’t keep contact with their offspring after having produced it. “She lives far, far away, on different planet, safe. I shall not bring other children into this world, just to make more Wraith fodder.”

“That’s understandable,” the Beta male agreed readily. “The offspring has to be protected. I wish we could help you with that; but it doesn’t seem possible, not yet.”

“In any case,” the mediator interfered smoothly, before Radek could have asked the wrong question, “you can now see that the people who currently occupy Atlantis aren’t quite that as unenlightened as you had thought based on the behaviour of _one_ individual. They are no threat for you; in fact, they could be very useful allies.

Wisely, Radek decided to refrain from mentioning ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell!’ That would only have the Furlings change their minds about the semi-enlightened state of Earth people, again.

“For you, perhaps, they can be useful,” the Huntress said to the mediator. “We have no need for any allies. The Wraith cannot follow us where we live now. And when _we_ visit their domain, we are the hunters, not the prey.”

That answered the question about cloaking and shielding versus living in a different dimension. Although Radek was sure that a society so technically advanced wouldn’t refrain from the more… traditional means of defence, either. 

Unless they were arrogant or stupid, of course. Or both.

“Despite the proof you’ve brought us, we still don’t think that your people are philosophically enlightened enough for us to incorporate you in our society, despite our need of new genetic material,” the Chief Warlord said, speaking directly to Radek for the first time. “That, in my estimate, will need centuries to happen. So we see no other choice than to send you back to your own domain.”

That was fine with Radek, who really didn’t look forward to any possible genetic experiments that might or might not enable him to get pregnant with Rodney McKay’s child, of all people. Or with the child of anyone else, thank you very much. Any pregnancy that might happen around him in the not-so-near future would be carried out by Miko – or not at all.

He felt, however, that it was his duty to at least try to help the only member of their expedition who was in _real_ trouble.

“When you return us to our own dimension,” he said, “can we take Major Sheppard with us?”

The Chief Warlord nodded. “We have no need for him here, considering the fact that he cannot breed,” he said. “But we do not wish to see him on our planet again…not him or anyone else from your people. Our Gate will be blocked to you, for a long time yet to come. Once you’ve overcome the shortcomings of your society – and your biology – you’ll be welcome again.”

Wisdom and past experience made Radek hold back the sarcastic remark that wanted to slip out of his mouth badly. The Furlings were so full of themselves; they couldn’t even imagine that someone might _not_ wish to be integrated into their oh-so-perfect society. Well, for his part, Radek certainly didn’t. All he wanted was to get back to Atlantis, to his work and to his partners, and never walk through another Stargate again. Unless it was for a trip to Earth. But chances for _that_ were about as slim as for him to give birth to Rodney’s baby.

To his great relief, the Holy Synod unceremoniously dismissed them a few minutes later. While they were waiting for the release of Major Sheppard, he _got_ to take a look at the Beta’s holographic viewscreen, and though the technology behind it was beyond his understanding, he at least got an inkling of how it worked. He would tell Miko, whose field was computer imaging systems (among other things) about it. Perhaps one day, something will come out of it. That would make this whole trip a bit less of a waste of time.

They were escorted back to the Gate cave, where a somewhat dishevelled Major Sheppard was already waiting for them. He seemed safe and sound, although royally pissed, and they returned to Atlantis without further delay.


	4. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

There was a big party in the mess hall of Atlantis that night, celebrating the safe return of the Dream Team, although it was let down a bit by the fact that Dr. Zelenka firmly refused to even _look_ at Dr. McKay, much less speak to him. He also declared his heartfelt wish to swap workplaces with Dr. Kavanagh and dedicate the rest of his life to sewer treatment, where he wouldn't have to see either cocky pilots or head scientists with delusions of godhood, whose backsides he’d have to pull out of the fire after they'd tested said delusions.

His vicious reaction caused a bit of bewilderment, even among the Marines.

“Who’d have thought that Doctor Z would react so badly to people thinking he was gay?” Sergeant Jamie Markham, the baby of the entire platoon, shook his head in amazement. He had some sporadic contact with the engineer since he was a pilot and Zelenka was responsible for all the puddle jumpers.

Stackhouse, the man with the analytical mind, grinned. “Nah, Jamie, you see it wrong. Doctor Z wouldn’t care if people thought he was tupping sheep. The mere idea of him having something with _McKay_ was what ticked him off completely.”

Markham thought about _that_ for a moment, then he nodded gravely. “Good point.”

The subject of their guesswork was sitting on the other side of the mess hall, in the company of Doctors Grodin and Kusanagi.

“I find it amusing that they all believe you’d be upset because Rodney made the Furlings believe that you were gay,” Grodin, who’d listened to a few conversations before, said with an ill-concealed grin. “I wonder what they would say if they knew the truth about us.”

Radek gave him one of those quick little smiles of his, albeit a very tired one.

“Truth is, as you know all too well that I am _not_ gay,” he said. “I’m with you – both of you – because you’re likeable people. As for you, Peter, I’d be with you if you were a woman, too. I am… flexible.”

“In more than just one sense of the word,” Grodin commented suavely, making Radek blush furiously. 

Miko swatted Grodin’s arm.

“Peter, behave!” she scolded in a motherly manner. “You’ve embarrassed Radek.”

Grodin shrugged. “Couldn’t resist. He’s so cute when embarrassed. But I still wonder what _Rodney_ would say, should he learn the truth about us.”

“ _That_ ,” Radek declared emphatically, “is _not_ something I wish to find out. Ever.”

“Agreed,” Peter nodded. “He’s cantankerous enough as it is, and that's on a good day. No need to provide him with even more ammo.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Radek rubbed his burning eyes and yawned. “I’m leaving. Party is too noisy, and I’m getting headache. What about you?”

“Cannot, sadly,” Peter told him with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve got night watch.”

“I’ll come after you in a few minutes,” Miko promised with a lovely, shy smile. “Will give you a good backrub for aching muscles and a neck massage against headache. Just try to avoid Dr. McKay on your way out, or else you’ll never reach your quarters.”

Radek shot a wary look at Rodney, who was talking – with his mouth full, no less – to three or four thoroughly intimidated technicians at the same time. Party or not, Atlantis’ head scientist did his best to keep his underlings tremble in fear.

“I shall slip out while he’s occupied,” Radek said, and with that, he was already on his way out, using pieces of furniture and big, beefy Marines to cover his movements.

Peter and Miko looked after him with a shared fondness.

“That man is a jewel,” Peter declared. “A jewel, I tell you.”

“He is,” Miko agreed seriously. “We are very fortunate to have him.”

~The End~


End file.
